Defeated, Tennessee
by Scruggy
Summary: In a remote trailer in the woods on the outskirts of a small town - Lori Hugh lives an impoverished life, alone and in squalor. Is she hidden away enough from the world to save her from The Walking Dead?


**Defeated, Tennessee**

_By Aloysius Bracken _

Lori Hugh awoke with a painful hunger.

With a laborious effort, she managed to hoist her ample frame from her bed. To call it a modest bed would be praise, it was little more than a soiled mattress and filthy threadbare quilts. Lori's grunting from the strain of the act, was matched in volume by her gastrointestinal rumblings. It had been well over twenty-four hours since Lori's last proper meal. And Lori ate a lot. She ambled over to a dresser, with several handles missing from the drawers. Atop the dresser were her "chamber pots" she had cleverly fashioned from a few plastic milk jugs. She topped one off, and slipped on her comfortable plus-sized sweatpants, slippers, and a humongous t-shirt stained with bygone spills. Her entire body ached, and she did her best to rub her bedsores and joint pain, but what she really needed was food.

Lori waddled through a small corridor, lined with trash, to the kitchen of her 1970s era prefabricated mobile home. Most of the trash was discarded pastry wrappers, and old yellowed newspapers. There was plenty of organic material to keep the roaches well fed, as they scurried from pile to pile. The kitchen was feculent. Everything seemed to be covered with a thin layer of grime, from the cabinets, to a defunct sink that was full of cups and plates crusted over with the remnants of ancient meals. What little wallpaper remained was peeling and brittle. Here and there, tacked to the ceiling, were strips of flypaper that dangled stiffly like stalactites, blackened and heavy with the tiny bodies of hundreds of flies. Lori opened the refrigerator, and was unfazed by the stench of decay that wafted out. She poked about among the rotten or rotting foodstuffs. The refrigerator had not functioned for years, but Lori still used it for food storage. While finishing off the last of a two litter bottle of orange soda that had lost its carbonation weeks ago, she managed to find a hunk of moldy bread. Lori was so ravenous, that she did not even make the effort to scrape away the mold before devouring the bread in three bites.

"Well," Lori droned aloud, "I guess that's the last of it."

It had been well over two weeks since Reverend Jacobs had dropped off his bimonthly care package from the charitable parishioners at The First Baptist Church of Defeated, Tennessee. Each package had a variety of groceries and toiletry, compiled from the Church's modest food bank of donations to help the community's poor. And Lori was very poor. Reverend Jacobs was flustered when he last visited, and had not even chastised Lori for the uncleanliness of her trailer like he always did. He warned Lori that she must try to make this package last. People were getting sick in the big cities, and the sickness was spreading. It would eventually reach even the backwater town of Defeated, and when it did, the Reverend might not be able to help her. For this sickness, as he put it, was "God's Judgement". Lori thanked the good Reverend, but in her mind dismissed the warnings as more of his biblical ravings. Her Mamma used to tell her that Jesus was good and never wanted to hurt us. That day, as Reverend Jacobs drove off down the dirt road away from her trailer, despite not fully believing his ominous warnings, Lori had the feeling she would never see him again.

With a sigh, Lori closed the refrigerator. She shuffled into the living room, past a couch cluttered with boxes of VHS tapes, and bindles of old magazines. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling, and particles of fecundity hovered in what little sunlight that seeped through the dirt coated windows. Lori stood in front of a dusty display hutch. The breakfront had double glass doors, but one side was shattered. She reached inside and picked up her Daddy's old single barrel breach-loading shotgun.

"Daddy, it's yer favorite scattergun." Lori whispered with quiet solemnity. "Well, I hope you don't mind me usin' it without you. Just this once, how about? For to catch some supper with?"

Lori often spoke to her parents, even though she knew they were with Jesus. Reverend Jacobs said it was okay, it was like praying. She got very lonely living so far from town, often with only the sounds of the bullfrogs in the bog to keep her company. Some nights, she would walk down to the shore of that stagnant water, and join in with the cacophony of frogs with her best "ribbits". Lori considered those frogs to be like family, so the thought at having to eat them made her sad. But it also made her hungry.

Lori opened a box of shotgun shells from a small drawer under the gun display, and pocketed a handful. She unclasped the breach of the gun, loaded a shell and locked it back up, just like her Daddy had shown her. With some struggling, she finally managed to sling the shotgun around her bulbous shoulder, and blinked her eyes as she stepped into the sunny front yard. Lori figured she would take a practice shot before she started her hunting expedition, and looked around for a target. The yard was big, and full of rusty machinery Granddaddy Hugh used to collect. She spied an old broken-down tractor, which still had some original green paint near the engine. Lori unslung the gun, and placed the stock against her shoulder. She thumbed back the hammer, and took aim. BOOM! The report had startled all the birds in nearby trees, and they took wing simultaneously. She hoped she had not scared away her supper.

"HOOWEE," Lori yelled excitedly, "I almost done forgot how hard you kick, you stubborn mule!"

She lowered the gun, and rubbed her supple shoulder. Even though her target practice had left her sore and likely to bruise, she was happy to see her shot was true. A small coupling of buckshot holes was splayed over the splotch of green paint on the old tractor. With a half-grin, Lori reloaded. She found an old folding chair next to the trailer, and decided to rest in the shade before her hunt. A cool breeze came through, and brought the light sweet smell of honeysuckle. The cicadas were buzzing away in the foliage with that hypnotic lulling sound they make, and before she knew it, Lori had dozed off.

Lori Hugh awoke with a painful hunger.

She knew she had not been asleep for that long, but she figured it was close to noon, so she better get a move on. It had started to warm up considerably, so she decided to walk out to the well pump, for something to drink. Quietly wishing that the pump would produce orange soda, Lori halfheartedly got the old hand pump going, but enthusiastically drank when the cold water began to flow from the spigot. She splashed some on her face and stringy blonde hair, and reveled in the cool clean feeling. It had been longer than she could remember since there was ever running water inside the trailer. Lori did not mind much, hygiene was never a top priority in The Hugh Household. She finished her modest bath, and retrieved her Daddy's gun she now called, _Stubborn Mule._

Drinking all that water helped take the edge off the hunger she was feeling, and Lori giggled at the sloshing sound so much water made in her tummy as she slowly walked. She had not been this far down her long dirt driveway in years, but the woods on either side seemed to look the same as always, full of noisy bugs, and birds singing. She was also listening for other sounds. Maybe she would find a wild turkey! She imagined a Thanksgiving feast with all the fixings, all for herself on a big table in her trailer. She would gladly share her meal with anybody who came to visit, so she better catch a BIG turkey! Lori's mouth was watering, and she was so lost in her reverie that she did not notice when the birds stopped singing and the bugs stopped buzzing.

Reverend Jacobs was standing in the dirt road in front of her. He was swaying back and forth, and making a moaning sound like he was trying to speak but could not think of the words. His clothes were all torn up, and there were dark patches of blood on his shirt. A crusty bandage looked like it had been hastily wrapped around his neck and cheek, but the blood had soaked through anyway. His hands seemed to be the worst off; it looked as if he had put them in a blender. Bone was exposed. Skin and sinew dangled from them like loose tattered gloves. Lori knew there was something wrong with him, Lori knew he was sick. The Reverend's mouth started to open and close, as his milky eyes focused on Lori. He raised those mutilated hands, and stumbled towards her.

Lori turned and scampered back down the dirt road towards the trailer. She was going as fast as her enormous body would allow her, but it was not fast enough. She could barely make out those beastly snarls the Reverend was making above her own huffing and puffing, but she could hear them inexorably approaching. She rounded a turn in the dirt driveway, and saw the trailer. It looked blurry through her unfocussed vision, but if she could just get inside she could be . . . The Reverend's bony hand grabbed Lori by the arm, and she spun around, losing her balance, and they both fell hard into the dirt. She wanted to yell at him, reason with him, but she could not catch her breath from the overexertion. The Reverend bit into her fleshly leg, and tore away a large chunk. Lori screamed as she kicked, and scuttled backwards. The sudden and exquisite pain cleared Lori's mind for a moment, and she reached around for _Stubborn Mule_. The Reverend seemed to be momentarily fixated on the piece of flesh in his mouth, and he worried away at it as he knelt in some grotesque mockery of supplication. Lori thumbed back the hammer, and took aim.

_Stubborn Mule _kicked, and although the blast was deafening, it seemed worlds away in Lori's ears. Through the translucency of the tears welling in her eyes, she blearily saw the right half of Reverend Jacob's head disappear as it rocked back into an aberrant cloud of dark pink mist and corporeity. His lifeless, disfigured body slumped awkwardly to the ground. Lori hoped he didn't look that way when he met with Jesus. He was her only friend. At least he wasn't sick anymore.

Lori, still heavily wheezing, tried to calm her racing heart, and take stock of the injury to her leg. It was bleeding profusely from a tear in her calf, just below the hem of her sweatpants. She wearily noticed she had lost a slipper in her flight down the dirt road. Using _Stubborn Mule _as a crutch, she heaved herself to her feet, and limped through the yard to the old water pump. She gritted her teeth, and winced as the cold water flowed over her wound. The distance from the pump to the trailer felt like miles, and each step shot a burning pain up her leg.

Once inside, Lori collapsed onto the couch, and tore a strip of faded curtain from the windowsill above. She wadded it over the gash in her leg, and then bound it in place with some twine from a stack of old magazines. She quietly prayed it would staunch the bleeding.

"Stupid Reverend Jacobs!" Lori exclaimed through her sobs, "Why'd you have to go an' bite me for?"

Lori's heart was still beating quickly, but her breathing had steadied somewhat. She was damp with sweat, and trembling with pain. All the struggles and over activity, had given Lori a pounding headache. She decided to go lie down.

Once again using _Stubborn Mule _for aid, Lori travailed her way through the squaller of her home, into her filthy bedroom. The wound in her leg felt as if it were on fire. She hazily lifted her hand to her forehead and felt a similar burning. She uncapped a bottle of asprin from her dresser, and dry swallowed four. Lori then limped over to her bed, and propped _Stubborn Mule _against the wall with a small appreciative pat. Then she dropped onto the mattress, more exhausted and anguished than she had ever been.

Lori closed her eyes, and could almost feel her tears evaporating on her cheeks from the intense heat coming off of her skin. She was unaware of the time, but perhaps it was early evening, because she could hear the first of many frogs begin croaking out around the bog. _Ribbit! Ribbit! _She smiled through her fever, and imagined dangling her feet in the cool bog water, with all the little fish nibbling on her toes. She saw Daddy and Mamma out in the water smiling and splashing in the sun. Lori laughed joyously, and sloshed out into the bog to join them. All her aches and pains had vanished, and she was suddenly happier than she had ever been.

Lori Hugh awoke with a painful hunger.


End file.
